


The light reflects on broken glass

by chaos_is_welcome



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_is_welcome/pseuds/chaos_is_welcome
Summary: They have always saved each other.  That has been the way of it.  Although if Aethelflaed was being honest with herself, it was usually Uhtred who did the saving.  Perhaps that should bother her, but it does not.  He has been longer for this world, and is a warrior both in action and at heart.  He does not need help as often as she, by both status of birth and status of gender, but just as she knows that she can depend on him, she also knows that he can depend on her.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	The light reflects on broken glass

They have always saved each other. That has been the way of it. Although if Aethaelfled was being honest with herself, it was usually Uhtred who did the saving. Perhaps that should bother her, but it does not. He has been longer for this world, and is a warrior both in action and at heart. He does not need help as often as she, by both status of birth and status of gender, but just as she knows that she can depend on him, she also knows that he can depend on her. 

The first time she remembers him coming to her aid is in the Marshland. She is young--not yet seven--and whenever Uhtred comes to speak to her father, she always hides her face. He is, after all, a “filthy heathen,” “godless,” “without scruples or a soul.” Mother says so, so it must be true. So when Uhtred comes to speak to her father in the open-air abode they sleep in, having fled Winchester for the Marshland, Aethelflaed hides against her father and turns her head away. But she listens. She is a daughter of Alfred--it is her job to know and understand what is happening around her, and she listens even when her parents think she does not. She can hear the fear in her mother and father’s voices as they speak of Edward’s increasing illness. She is scared, too, because her father--the King--who fears nothing, sounds terrified. Soon, mother is crying all the time and Edward, tiny Edward who has squeezed her fingers and cooed at her so many times, is pale and limp and wheezing. She knows that he will die, and it will destroy her parents. She may not yet be seven, but she isn’t stupid.

Yet one morning she wakes and finds her mother and father gathered around Edward. He is cooing and grabbing their hands, and her parents are smiling. It is the first time she can remember since reaching the Marshland, and really long before, that their smiles make it to their eyes. She, Lady Aethelflaed, a daughter of Alfred, understands that her father’s Dane warrior, Uhtred, and his even more mysterious woman, whom some call his “shadow queen,” whatever that is, are responsible for Edward’s recovery, although she is not entirely sure how. This is the first time that Uhtred saves Aethelfled, albeit indirectly. For even in her youth, she understands that had Edward died, it would have been the end for all of them. It is the first time, but it is far from the last. When they return, victorious, to Winchester, she continues to hide her face in her mother’s skirts when Uhtred appears, but she no longer fears him. She hides her face because her mother expects it. 

**

They have been back in Winchester for two moons when she sees Uhtred sitting in the palace courtyard, staring into space. He looks sad, his eyes looking wet and very un-heathen-like. He looks as if he is hurt. She knows he saved her brother, and that he has played a role in their return home from the wet, mosquito-ridden marshland. So before she can think too much of it, she walks toward him in hopes of easing his obvious pain. As she nears, she sees that he is toying with what looks like a dark lock of hair, much darker than his own. He does not seem to hear her approach, which she thinks again is very un-warrior like. These are the things she knows of Uhtred--he is a heathen and a warrior. She can not put those two pieces of knowledge together with the sad man sitting before her. She clears her throat, nervous. She has never spoken directly to a heathen, after all. “Are you hurt, Lord Uhtred?” She asks, and her voice sounds soft even to her own ears. 

He starts, his eyes focusing suddenly and sharply on her. He swallows audibly and stuffs the lock of hair into his tunic. “Lady Aethelflaed,” he says, and his voice is soft and warm. He does not sound like a heathen, she thinks. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?” His rich blue eyes are focused on her, and she feels their intensity. He looks confused, but less lost than before. 

She looks down at her white satin slippers, peeping below her skirts. She is unaccustomed to anyone holding her gaze for long, and there is just something about those eyes. She tries again, not looking up at him. “I said, are you well, Lord Uhtred?” 

He exhales, looks off into the distance again, then nods. “I am, thank you. Good day, Lady.” Before she can respond, he beats a hasty retreat towards the village. As she watches his retreating figure, she realizes that her first question and her second are not at all the same. 

Later, she asks Father Beocca why Uhtred is so sad. Beocca has known Uhtred since he was a boy, after all. He tells her of Uhtred’s friendship with Leofrick, and Leofrick’s death. He tells her of Uhtred’s son’s passing, and the death of Isuelt, the shadow queen from the marshland. “Uhtred has lost much in his young life, princess. More than any man should.”

She does not ask Beocca how Isuelt saved her brother, although she is curious, because she is certain it was in an unchristian manner, and that the Father will not speak of such a thing. She knows now, though, that the answer to her first question. Uhtred, who had saved her brother and by extension her family, has lost many he holds dear. He is hurting, but as a warrior will never say so. She adds brave to the list of things she knows about him, next to heathen, and warrior. 

From that day forward, when she sees Uhtred, she finds the courage to speak to him, so long as her mother is not around. It seems like a simple kindness, given all he has lost.

**

When she is ten, the gelding she is riding with her father and a small guard bolts. It is all she can do to stay astride the powerful bay as he careens through the forest, ears pinned to his head. She has her fists balled in his black mane, praying that she meets her end quickly if she falls. The trees are blurs as they tear by at unholy speeds. Suddenly she is no longer alone, and there are sure hands on her. Uhtred is there, his white stallion meeting her bay stride for stride. “Quickly, princess,” he says, and those blue eyes meet hers as he takes her arm. How he can speak or move when flying like the wind is beyond her, but she trusts what she sees in his eyes. She lets go of the mane and grabs for his arm, squeezing her eyes shut as she leans into him and screams, a roar in her ears. The next thing she knows, she feels safe, for there are arms banded around her and she is leaning against Uhtred’s broad chest. The roar is subsiding and she can hear his steady heartbeat under her ear, keeping time with the hoofbeats of his horse. 

She hears him murmur, “Easy now, well done,” in that rich voice, as he pulls up gently on the reins. He holds her securely against him, moving effortlessly with the stallion as he shortens his stride. She realizes she is gripping Uhtred’s riding cloak for dear life and tries (but fails) to loosen her grip. “Easy now,” he murmurs again, “all is well.” She is not entirely sure if he’s speaking to her or the stallion, but she finds comfort in it, regardless. As the stallion slows to a trot, she hears horses approaching, and her father calling her name as he arrives with his guard. She looks to see him pull up, Steapa ever-present by his side. 

“Father!” She cries, as Uhtred helps her slide to the ground after the horse halts. Her knees give way as her feet reach the ground, a delayed effect of her brush with death, she supposes. She nearly crumples to the ground, but the man who has saved her manages to hold her upright while she regains her feet, all without even dismounting his horse. When she finds her balance, she teeters toward her father. The tears come then. After she’s had a good cry and reassured her father that she is alright, she turns to thank Uhtred, but he is already gone. Her father murmurs encouraging words. They walk for a while, and eventually she mounts up behind her father on his calm dapple grey mare. They are nearly out of the woods when Uhtred rejoins them, her bay gelding in tow.

“I thought perhaps the Danes had found ye,” Steappa jokes, “you were gone so long.”

Uhtred grinned at him, those blue eyes alight with mischief. “The horse had brambles tangled around a fetlock,” he said, nodding to the bay. “That’s why he took off in such a manner. I only caught him because he grew tired. He’s a spirited beast.” Uhtred turned toward her and her father. “You did a fine job staying in the saddle, Lady Aethelfled.” 

The compliment made her cheeks blush. Her entire day was filled with people who sought favor by speaking praise, but from Uhtred the praise felt genuine and not easily given. Suddenly, she wanted to be brave, as a warrior would be. Here, with only her father, Uhtred, Steappa and a few other loyal guardsmen, she did not need to fear reproach for being unnecessarily bold. “Is he sound, Lord Uhtred?” She asked. 

Uhtred cocked an eyebrow, smiling. There was mischief twinkling in those blue eyes. “He is, my Lady, just winded.” He nodded to the now-placid gelding. “I doubt he’ll give you any trouble, should you need to prove yourself.” 

Her father scoffed, “Most certainly not.” This, of course, only flamed her desire to do just that. 

“Please, father.” It was all she had to say. The King sighed, pulling up so she could slide down. 

Uhtred grinned as he handed her the reins. “Let no man call Lady Aethelflaed of Winchester a coward,” he said as she swung into the saddle. 

She exhaled as she settled in, collecting the reins. The gelding remained stationary and disinterested. She turned and smiled at him. “I am, after all, a daughter of Alfred,” she said, then spurred the gelding into a trot. 

Uhtred’s laughter followed after her. “Quite right,” her father huffs, as they headed for home. 

It was the second time that Uhtred saved her. Much, much later, she would come to understand what a rarity it was that he never chided people for honest mistakes. She came to understand that this was one of the reasons that men would follow him anywhere. That day, she added kind to her catalog of words that described him. 

**

The first time she saves him, she doesn’t fully know what she has done until years later. Hilde, Uhtred’s warrior nun, arrives in Winchester exhausted and breathless. Aethelflaed can not believe the words she is hearing as Hilde explains that King Guthred has sold Uhtred into slavery. Brave, vibrant warrior Uhtred, sold. She is not so sheltered that she does not understand what this means. Her stomach rolls as Father Beocca pledges to search for him, only to be rebuked by her father. It is her mother, who has never spoken a kind word about Uhtred, who has saved her, saved them all, who finally makes her find her voice. 

“He is lost, Father,” her mother says, so matter-of-factly and without emotion. 

“No!” Aethelflaed yells, with such force that her mother jumps. She is seventeen now, ready to consider suitors, but she hardly ever raises her voice to her parents. She turns to her father, knowing that he is the one who she can appeal to. “Father, it is Uhtred,” she pleads, thinking of his gleaming blue eyes, so full of life. Slavery. Her mother talks over her, tries to silence her, but she continues to appeal to her father. “He did not abandon us and we should not abandon--” 

Her mother cut her off and her father spoke of his uncertainty of how to go about finding Uhtred. It is Odda, brave, scarred Odda, who has great respect for Uhtred, that recommends sending Ragnar. Ragnar, Uhtred’s Danish brother, who fought against them at Ethandun, and had been a prisoner for the years since. 

It is years before Aethelflaed truly understands what Uhtred endured. She knows he came back changed, but it is not until the first time that they lie together that she understands the physical and emotional scars of that time. Her father is gone by then, and Edward has had his first and most important victory at the Battle of Bedanford. She had known that her heart was lost as Uhtred had spoken to the men about the light of Wessex. When he had returned, bloody and bruised, but not broken, it had only been a matter of time before it had happened. 

He lights her on fire with his hands and his kisses. She wonders, not for the first time, if any Saxon man understands how to love a woman’s body as a Dane does. Her experience is limited, but not in favor of the Saxon. Uhtred has unlaced her dress while she has been introspective, and now his fingers are over the swells of her breasts. His thumbs are caressing her nipples. She gasps and heat pools low in her belly. His mouth follows his hands, and before she knows what occurs, he is on his knees, his tongue and fingers inside her. She is soon gasping his name as she comes. They are at Coccham, and any who hear her are loyal to him. He lifts her, placing her on the bed. He kisses her and she can taste the salty tang of herself on his tongue, feel the wetness of her pleasure on his goatee, and it is incredibly erotic. It serves to make her want him again. She reaches for his breeches and unlaces them. He has always made her bold. 

He chuckles. “In a hurry, my Lady?” He teases. It’s cut off by a groan as she takes him in hand, and then he laughs no more. 

His mouth moves to her breast again, so she releases and skims her hands up, over his muscled ass and up the hard planes of his back, taking his shirt with her as she travels up. She stops suddenly, though, when her fingers trip over the first jagged line of scar tissue. “Uhtred,” she says, suddenly uncertain. 

“Shh,” he scolds, raising to pull his shirt the rest of the way off. “It’s nothing,” he whispers. She forgets everything then, as he pins her arms gently above her, his blue eyes locking with hers as his head teases at her entrance and then slides slowly home. 

Later, after they have both had their fill and are beginning to breathe normally, she raises her head to look at his back. To her surprise, he rolls to face the window, giving her his back so that she can easily see the scarred lines crossing his back in angry red paths. Without thinking, she begins to trace the one with her fingertips, then pulls her hand back, uncertain. 

“It’s okay, Aethelflaed,” he says softly. “You may touch me. It no longer hurts. They serve now as a reminder.” 

She feels the heaviness in his words, so she leans in, letting her forehead rest on his shoulder as she begins tracing each line. “A reminder?” She asks, leaving the door open for him to say more, or nothing at all. 

“The men who follow me often do so at great peril to themselves,” he says, exhaling. “Years ago, before Erik and Sigfried took you, I was sold as a slave by a Northern King I, ironically, saved from slavery.”

She kisses a scar, remembering still the panic she had felt when Hilde had delivered her news. “I remember--Guthred,” she said simply. 

“One of my men, Halig, was enslaved with me. He did not survive as Finan and I did. Had he been less loyal, he would still be alive today. I begged Guthred not to enslave him, but Halig refused to leave my side. Guthred feared that level of loyalty, so he sent Halig with me. The scars you see remind me that I must not falter, and that loyalty comes with a heavy price.”

She thinks of the men who followed Uhtred, who backed him up no matter what happened and would follow him anywhere. Sihtric, quiet despite his Danish appeal, who was still madly in love with his wife, after years and years. (This supported her theory about Danes and their devotion, but again, her experience was limited to the extraordinary men she had encountered, most of whom were tied to Uhtred). And then there was Finan, loud, boisterous, and charming. She had no doubt that Finan would follow Uhtred anywhere, and would give his life willingly to save his Lord. Osferth, her bastard half brother, who the others often chided with the name “Baby Monk.” Osferth had not been a warrior when he had come to them, but he was certainly one now. 

Aethelflaed puts her hand on Uhtred’s shoulder and gently coaxes him onto his back. She frames his face between her hands. “You are a good man, Uhtred.”

He traces the length of her arm, up to her shoulder blade, and across with such exquisite care that she loses her breath. “For a long time after that,” he says gently, “I simply longed to be a free man. Your father insisted on tying me with oath after oath, but I wished only to be free. I forgot what it was to have something to fight for without an oath hanging over me.” 

She kisses his hand and brings herself against him. He kisses the crown of her head, and his breathing evens out almost immediately. As she drifts off to sleep, she says a prayer of thanks to Halig, for perhaps his sacrifice had ensured Uhtred’s safe return.

**Author's Note:**

> I love all these stupid idiots. That is all. I hope you enjoyed. First fic for this fandom but there's bound to be more because I just wrote 3k words and barely scratched the surface of two really awesome characters in an amazing cast. This should have two more chapters.


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